


Homecoming

by MarieTurtle



Category: Black Sails
Genre: AU, F/M, Wedding Night, ashebones, my forever muses, the tiniest rowboat
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-07
Updated: 2021-03-07
Packaged: 2021-03-13 14:48:50
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,773
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29902734
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MarieTurtle/pseuds/MarieTurtle
Summary: Abigail's newfound freedom is threatened by a relative and Flint proposes a solution: marriage to Billy.
Relationships: Abigail Ashe/Billy Bones
Comments: 12
Kudos: 20





	Homecoming

**Author's Note:**

> AU where after Charles Town they went back to Nassau and lived normal pirate lives instead of *gestures wildly* all that war against the world business.
> 
> I started a second version of this prompt that is VERY different from this story. I will probably finish it at some point, mainly because I love the idea of a more sexually aggressive Abigail, but I struggled with balancing that with the prompt at the early 18th century setting.

“I received this letter yesterday afternoon,” Abigail held the folded parchment out to Captain Flint with a shaking hand. “I’m sorry for troubling you with this, but I didn’t know who else to turn to.”

Billy watched the exchange from his seat next to her. Whenever she was close like this, he fought a battle against the urge to get even closer, until her body was plastered to his. Now was not the time. As upset as she was, he still found her uncommonly pretty. Tonight’s dress was one he’d seen several times before. Its blue stripes contrasted with her dark hair in a way that drew the eye. Fuck, he needed to focus.

She spoke softly, barely audible over the general cacophony of the inn at dinner time, as she had when they first met last year, not at all like the confident woman he’d come to know since then. His fingers itched with the desire to snatch the letter out of Flint’s hand and read it for himself. To read it first and be the first to know of the troubles that left her shaking and whispering.

Flint scanned the letter, only hinting at the content’s ill news with a subtle twitch of his nostril, the one that always jumped when he was stone cold furious. When he finished, he passed the letter to Billy without comment.

“We’ll have to review our options, but the question, Miss Ashe, is what do you want to do about this?” he asked.

Billy read the words, dread and his own fury curling up his spine. Apparently Abigail did have a relation or two left in the world who hadn’t turned their backs on her. This one, some distant cousin, not only hadn’t turned his back, but he was demanding her voluntary return to London. Immediately, on pain of being brought back and committed to Bedlam until she “remembers her place in the world.”

If all had kept to schedule, he would be here next week and expected her with him on the next tide out.

Women were subject to a wholly different form of impressment in places where civilization ruled. As an older male relation claiming her, this man, this Mr. Pritchet, was well within his right to make her his prisoner in the eyes of England.

He wanted to smash something. Abigail had come to Nassau with just enough money to buy a small house on a small plot, determined to make a life of her own choosing. His pride in her had swelled by the day watching her toil and sweat to learn how to take care of herself for the first time in her life. The way she’d knuckled down and accomplished what she set out to, with so little preparation for this sort of life, put him in awe of her. Now some self-righteous fuck half the world away wanted to take it away from her.

Over Billy’s dead fucking body.

“In truth, I have no idea what my options are,” Abigail said.

“What do you want to come from this?”

She folded her hands in her lap, worrying her fingers together. “I want...I want to stay here. I have enjoyed my independence, my occupation. I don’t know Mr. Pritchet. I only met him once when I was a child. My father considered him and his family too lowborn for much socializing. I fear even if I accompany him willingly, I will be subjugated in some fashion.”

A man willing to drag a woman he didn’t even properly know off to condemnation in some shithole hospital because she didn’t obey his word couldn’t possibly be trusted to see to her best interests.

“I thought you might say that.” Flint poured a cup of ale and nudged it toward Abigail. “Now, let’s talk, the three of us, about how we might handle this situation.”

As much as Billy still hated Flint, he had to respect the man’s cunning. As long as Flint continued to see to the interests of the crew, Billy would remain at his side. That was their agreement. For this issue, Abigail couldn’t ask for better help than James Flint.

Flint took a swallow of his own drink and said, “Since it is the most obvious solution, let’s get it out of the way: we kill him when he arrives on the island. Nassau is a dangerous place and who’s to say he won’t stumble into a fight. I can see to it that there’s trouble with whatever ship he’s planning to sail back on, delay him for a day or two, then get rid of him.”

Abigail paled and almost spilled the drink she sniffed cautiously. “No, my God, no. I could not live with myself with the knowledge that a man was murdered in my name. No.”

Her voice had finally risen above a whisper with her denials. He couldn’t blame Flint for suggesting murder. It was, after all, the first idea that popped into his head, as well. However, they both knew Abigail would abhor this solution. Killing Mr. Pritchet was the sort of thing they should have done without telling her. 

“I thought not.” Flint had the audacity to smirk at that. “That leaves two options. First, you run, however I think you and I both know that the fate that awaits unmarried, unprotected women with little money is less than ideal. The last option allows you to keep your life here and retain your independence.”

She perked up at that, but Billy sensed a trap, something that spoke to his primal instincts telling him now would be a good time to run. Flint was up to something and, as usual, Billy didn’t know if he was going to like the outcome.

Flint’s gaze flickered between the two of them. Part of him wanted to reach for Abigail’s hand under the table, but he was certain Flint would notice. 

On a sigh, Flint rested his forearms on the table and looked Abigail in the eye. “What you need is a closer male relation to turn this cousin away. If you are amenable to it, I can secure for you a husband, a man loyal to me who will do what I tell him to. Though your property will legally belong to this man, you have my assurance you will retain control. If you wish it to remain a marriage in name only, I can arrange that, as well.”

Abigail didn’t speak, so Billy did.

“Captain, you cannot seriously be considering marrying her off to some pirate. She’d be tied to a criminal. Who could you possibly even trust with this?”

Understanding dawned. Flint shifted his hard eyes to Billy, and he sensed a pit opening up in his soul. No. Absolutely not. Not him. She deserved so much more than a career pirate, a killer, a thief, a saboteur. He would ruin her, his darkness would leach away all her light. Worse still, the biggest condemnation of his soul, was how badly he wanted it. He sought her out under the thinnest of excuses. If she had a problem she couldn’t fix on her own, he handled it. Then he’d linger in her company, soaking up all that light as long as he could.

He’d surrendered to his baser desires and kissed her, more than once, and he was a damned man for how much more he wanted from her. If they were married, he didn’t know how long he could continue resisting her steady pull.

“Dooley would be a good candidate,” Flint said, heedless of Billy’s turmoil. “He’s a bit rough around the edges, but he’ll follow my orders. The madame has never passed along any complaints about his behavior here, so I’m given to think he’ll respect your wishes, whatever they may be.”

“Dooley?” Billy practically barked the name. “First you want to marry her off to a pirate, then the first name you mention is fucking Dooley?”

He couldn’t believe this. He’d expected Flint to name him, not someone else. Billy had often thought of Abigail marrying someone else, someone honest and good, but never had he pictured that man. With a few choice words, Flint painted that picture in stunning detail and it made every muscle in his body tense with the desire to flip the table over and beat Flint senseless for mentioning Dooley at all.

Too late, he realized Flint’s game. Damn him.

“Well, if you don’t like my suggestions,” Flint picked up his mug and gave it a light swirl, “by all means, who would you suggest?”

Billy had walked right into Flint’s trap. 

“Am I to have any say in this?” Abigail spoke with deadly calm, the tone all women used on men who made huge mistakes.

“The decision is entirely yours, Miss Ashe,” Flint said, as though he hadn’t crafted this entire scenario to make the decision for both of them. Jesus, now he was thinking like Silver.

“Thank you,” she said. “I am amenable to your idea and I am aware of its necessity. What I am not comfortable with is ordering an unwilling man to marry me, even if in name alone.”

In Billy’s estimation, any man with eyes and a pulse would count himself lucky to be her husband. Any man with a functioning mind doubly so.

“Captain, a word?” Billy stood from the table and turned to Abigail’s startled expression. “We’ll be a moment.”

He only turned to leave when she offered him a small nod.

  
  


* * *

  
  


The two most important men in her life strode out of the crowded dining area with stiff shoulders. She didn’t want to put this on their shoulders, but she had no one else. Captain Flint was right: marriage was the only option she could tolerate. The foolish part of her had hoped Billy would jump at the opportunity. She couldn’t imagine a better husband for herself, a man she more wanted to marry. 

Ever since coming to Nassau, Billy had been the silent sentinel smoothing her way. It had taken her a full three months to realize it was him, not Captain Flint, who ensured her old house was liveable. Billy was the one who sent men with firewood and “extra” foodstuffs when she struggled over her garden. A dairy goat appeared in her lean-to when she couldn’t afford the goatherd’s exorbitant fee. She came to Nassau with enough money for her house and land and not much else. Thanks to Billy’s shadowy hand, she now earned a tidy sum repairing sailors’ clothing and selling cheese made from Peggy’s milk.

She’d done most of the work on her own, but Billy had made everything easier. He’d made sure she had everything she needed to succeed. 

All of that and it either hadn’t occurred to him to make the offer when Flint opened that door, or he understood what was being offered, and rejected it out of hand. At that thought, the meager hope to which she’d clung so tightly, that Billy might return her affection, shriveled in her heart. 

“For the woman about to be the envy of every whore on this island, you look like someone just kicked your puppy.”

Idelle slid into the seat Flint vacated, wearing her trademark smirk and a dangerously low cut gown. She took a peak in Abigails untouched cup and waved for a barmaid. Once the wine was poured, Abigail at last took a drink.

“Men,” Idelle chuckled, “doesn’t occur to them you might not enjoy drinking the watered-down piss they call ale.”

“Why would I be the envy of anyone?” 

She didn’t like that word, _whore_. Before coming to Nassau, it was too vulgar. Since coming to Nassau and getting to know the women who worked in this inn, it felt wrong. She saw women working to survive in spite of their circumstances and some, like Idelle, like Max, who rose far above their stations and truly achieved something in life, a thing they could only have done in a place like this.

Idelle snorted. “Please, you already are. You have Billy Bones eating out of the palm of your hand and, if I understood that little exchange correctly, you’re about to have him in your bed. Unless,” she leaned forward, “you already have that and this is just a formality.”

Abigail jerked back, blinking dumbly. People thought she had Billy, in any sense of the word? Did that make her and Billy the only ones who didn’t think so? And how on Earth had Idelle intuited Abigail’s most fervent, most secret wish?

“I’m afraid you’re mistaken,” she said. “He helps me when necessary and although marriage is on the table for me, he has not volunteered.”

The older woman watched her with a knowing smile. She licked her lips and said, “Do you know that since I came to Nassau, Billy Bones was already well known among the whores for making one single visit to their services once a year, sometimes not even that? They practically claw each other’s eyes out when he does come in, partially because he is who he is, but mostly just to say they got a piece of the one pirate on this island who doesn’t seem remotely tempted by our many charms.”

Abigail didn’t know what to do with that information. She should be relieved to know he wasn’t a regular patron of the brothel, but knowing that he used it all, even sparingly, sent her hackles rising. He could visit a brothel, yet the few times he’d kissed her, he’d broken off the kiss with a curse before disappearing for weeks.

“What I’m saying is,” Idelle went on, “don’t take it personally. He’s a different sort. The only two things he seems to give a shit about are his crew and you.”

That was information with which Abigail could work, if only she knew how. Not for the first time, she found herself adrift, floating on the sea with her hand up, praying someone would catch it. Keeping herself afloat was, in her estimation, quite the accomplishment for a woman who, a little over a year ago, didn’t know how to start a fire in the hearth or milk a goat. Yet she felt her progress moving along too slowly. It was too easy for the world to throw yet another seemingly insurmountable obstacle in her way and leave her floundering. 

If Billy walked back to this table and offered marriage, she would accept. It was the prospect of a future with a man who, by all accounts, held himself apart from the world and would likely keep her a safe distance away that troubled her.

“I should go before those two get back here and think we’re conspiring, but before I do, a word of advice.”

For this, Abigail was all ears.

“If he’s still dragging his feet about fucking you after the wedding, get him home, take your clothes off, and suck his dick. That’ll get his attention.”

Thank God Abigail hadn’t been touching, let alone drinking her wine. She gasped and searched wildly about the room, certain it had gone silent and every eye was upon her. Instead she found the same raucous chaos. If anyone heard, they didn’t care.

“I don’t, I mean I couldn’t,” Abigail sputtered. She couldn’t even look up from the table.

Idelle stood and patted her on the back. “It was the best bit of advice my mother ever gave me. Turns any man right to putty. He’ll do whatever you want after that. If you’re very lucky, he’ll enjoy returning the favor. Cheers.”

Idelle tapped her cup against Abigail’s and whirled away in a sea of bright colors. 

Return the favor? What did that even mean?

  
  


* * *

  
  


Billy waited just long enough to round the side of the building before turning on Flint.

“What the fuck are you doing?”

Flint merely raised an eyebrow. “Aside from helping a woman to whom you and I both owe a monumental debt? I don’t know what you mean.”

“I know what you’re doing.” Billy started to pace, hand tapping an erratic beat against his thigh where he wished his sword hung. “You think you can push us around like pieces on a chess board with a few choice words. She doesn’t want this. I don’t want this. We’ll tell her we’re working on a solution and intercept the man’s ship before he steps foot on this island.”

“First of all, I don’t give a fuck what you want or don’t want. You know, there are times when I think you are uncommonly smart.” Flint folded his arms across his chest. “Then there are times when I think you must be the stupidest man I’ve ever met and I honestly don’t know if you do it on purpose.”

That stopped his pacing. “Stupid? You think it’s stupid to prevent a disaster before it starts?”

“I think if you haven’t noticed how that woman feels about you, you are uncommonly dense. Ask her, she will agree, then we can put this little drama behind us. And no, we’re not going after that ship. You may be a fool, but she isn’t and she will know what we did.”

“Only because you fucking told her.”

A few passersby on the street turned at the sound of his raised voice and he didn’t care. Torchlight left them mostly in shadows, where men like them belonged.

Of course he knew of Abigail’s feelings. She wore them right out in the open for the world to see. Abigail Ashe had nothing to hide, unlike him. What she felt and what he felt didn’t matter. That wasn’t the point. 

She deserved better than Billy Bones.

“For fuck’s sake, Billy. I am aware that you suffer from the belief that you are the smartest man in any given room, but do you honestly think she’s an idiot? I didn’t have to tell her. She comes to us with this problem, then the ship her cousin is sailing on happens to be set upon by pirates, who happen to execute the man in question. If you truly believe she wouldn’t figure that out, then perhaps I should recommend someone better.”

Silence seethed between them. Flint was right: Billy was being ridiculous, ignoring the obvious and diminishing what he knew of Abigail in the process. The day he’d joined Flint’s crew he’d shuttered away all hope of ever rejoining society. What was marriage but an act of society? Of the normalcy he’d spent most of his life believing was more than unavailable to him, but forbidden?

“When she came to Nassau,” Billy began slowly, “you made me swear on pain of death that I wouldn’t drag her down any further. Now you’re asking me to do exactly that. Why?”

“Because the situation has changed. Because over the past year, I’ve watched you turn yourself inside out keeping her at a distance, so I already know that you won’t use this as an opportunity to press her for more than she’s willing to give. So help me God, if you dishonor any more than you already have, you will answer to me for it.”

It always came back to Charles Town, when he and Flint together had thrown her to the wolves in order to achieve their own ends. Why Abigail had chosen to forgive either of them was a mystery Billy had yet to unravel. 

They both owed her a debt, a debt in the form of a life worth living. Since Flint was an even less suitable option to resolve this than Billy, and the very idea tunneled his vision with rage, Billy must be the one to pay it. If that meant spending the rest of his life in torment staying apart from his own wife, the one woman who’d ever tempted him with the promise of not just normalcy, but love and acceptance, so be it.

“All right,” he said. “I’ll do it.”

Flint studied him for a moment before saying, “Good. If I have to choose someone else and deal with jealousy overtaking your better judgment, I’d be forced to remove you from my crew.”

Inside, Abigail remained at their table, a point of stillness in the boisterous place, the eye of a storm. Most men knew better than to harass her lest they face the wrath of the _Walrus_ crew. She hadn’t been left entirely alone, for she held a different cup in her hands than the ale Flint had offered. Of course she didn’t drink the stuff. 

As they sat back down, she straightened her shoulders and tilted her chin just so. Brave little thing, hardening herself to hear the worst instead of running from it.

No one spoke. Billy expected Flint to take charge, as was his custom, but instead the infuriating man sat in silence, neutral expression carefully in place.

God damn it.

Billy cleared his throat. “Miss Ashe, the captain and I have discussed it, and I…”

Shit. He had no idea how to word this. This wasn’t a proposal in the truest sense of the word, and instinct told him that whatever came out of his mouth next was bound to disappoint her. She was a woman who wanted, no, deserved romance and this was not it. Billy cursed his role in her ruination for the thousandth time. It had all led to this moment where he would hammer in the final nail on her coffin. She had no doubt dreamed of the day when the right man offered for her hand, probably in a rose garden or at a fountain or some other grand scene he could never conjure. It was not supposed to be at a crowded inn that smelled of alcohol and sweat, resounding with cursing and shouts, with one of the most feared men in the Atlantic in audience.

He tried again. “If you are amenable to it, I can be your husband.”

There. It was done. Fuck.

“I would accept,” she said, “but not if you feel you are being forced into something you do not want.”

Fuck. They were both going to make him give voice to things he kept hidden, secret wants and desires he never thought to share.

He couldn’t meet Flint’s hard stare and that was fine, because it was Abigail who needed to hear this.

“I want this,” he said, his voice low, as if he could still keep it a secret from his captain.

Her entire body loosened and her face lifted with a warm glow. She should know better than to be happy about any of this. 

“Then I accept,” she said.

“He’ll have to stay on your property until we’re certain the threat from Mr. Pritchet has passed,” Flint said, finally choosing to speak. “After that, however you wish to proceed is entirely up to you.”

Billy didn’t miss the warning laced between his words. _If she asks you to leave, you leave_. 

Leaving her now might be the hardest thing he’d ever done.

  
  
  


* * *

  
  


They sat across from each other at Abigail’s rickety table, staring in silence at the stew she’d left warming over the fire while they married. Billy hadn’t made eye contact with her since walking into the chapel just a few short hours ago. 

Abigail’s heart was rapidly turning into a shriveled thing in her breast. When he’d offered to marry her, for a moment there, her spirits had soared. She couldn’t have manufactured this scenario if she’d tried. She had spent the day with Idelle, dressing her hair, choosing the right gown from the plethora at Idelle’s disposal, chatting happily, entirely unaware of the darkness to come. The one and only man she’d ever envisioned herself married to was now her husband, and he’d met her at the altar like a man approaching the gallows.

He remained silent, brows pulled down, frown locked in place and she hadn’t the slightest idea how everything went so wrong. How he must hate her. 

  
  


Perhaps Mr. Pritchet would have been the better choice. Her future wouldn’t have come at the price of anyone’s suffering but her own.

“If you have an extra blanket or two, I can sleep out here.” His voice came out ragged from disuse.

“Oh.” Of course he’d want to stay far from her bedroom, far from that which was now his by right. Whatever those stolen kisses had meant to her hadn’t meant the same to him. Her heart shriveled a bit more at the crushing disappointment.

Billy stirred feelings in her she’d always thought dreadfully sinful until the night Miranda had eased her mind about the marriage bed after that ugly business with Ned Low and Vane’s crew.

Miranda said these feelings were not only natural, but, with the right person, a thing of beauty. Billy was the most beautiful man she’d ever seen and his kisses always left her wanting more. But those were shallow things that couldn’t speak to how she felt in his presence, how she felt merely thinking of him. Those things couldn’t encompass the night he’d sat outside with her and pointed out different constellations, or the way he patiently tolerated her attempts at cooking. They couldn’t give voice to the way time seemed to freeze and accelerate simultaneously whenever they saw each other.

They certainly couldn’t explain how small and cruel she felt having subjected him to a marriage he didn’t want.

“Or I can sleep in the shed, if you’re more comfortable.”

She looked up from her untouched stew and was surprised to find Billy actually looking at her. There was something in his gaze she couldn’t identify, something like frustration or discomfort. After all this time, she still couldn’t always read him, despite her desperate desire to unlock the door behind which he kept his truest self. 

“Whatever you’d like,” she said. Her hand mindlessly stirred the spoon, releasing the savory aroma of spices and perfectly cooked beef. She was quite proud of this meal. It had taken her months to perfect Billy’s favorite dish and had looked forward to sharing the fruits of her labor with him. Now she imagined it would taste like ash on her tongue.

Ashe. It wasn’t even her last name anymore, a strange thought. Mrs. Abigail Manderly had a nice ring to it, or it would, if her groom wasn’t mentally rehearsing five different forms of suicide.

The thought that Billy might prefer death to a life with her stiffened her spine. Abigail knew herself to be a fine catch. She was well educated for a woman, well read, skilled in making others feel comfortable, current situation notwithstanding. She knew for a fact Billy enjoyed their conversations, no matter how it seemed to physically pain him to approach her on some days. It wasn’t a lack of humility to admit she knew herself to be fine of form and face. Being married to her was no great imposition, at least not to a man without social standing. Her Charles Town reputation made her untouchable in her old circles.

Of that, she had no regrets. In this moment she had but one regret and he was sitting across her table scowling at the stew again.

“I’m sorry,” she said at last, at once meaning her apology and also wanting to demand an explanation. What about her did he find so dreadfully offensive? 

His head jerked back, pinning her place with ocean blue eyes. “What are you sorry for? You’re the one stuck with me.”

“I know marriage is not something you want, at least not to me,” she barrelled on, knowing he spoke but not hearing him. “I promise I will not be an imposition. If you’d like, I can have an extra room built-”

“Miss Ashe,” his eyes closed and he took a deep breath, “Abigail, I...my only concern is for you. You deserve better than a forced marriage to a pirate.”

She finally heard him, yet she still didn’t understand. “All day you’ve been upset because you think you’re not good enough for me?”

“When would a man like me ever deserve a woman like you?”

Just like that, her shriveled heart lifted and swelled with new life. She had to ask it again, if only to be sure. “You think you’re not good enough for me?”

He scoffed and leaned his long frame back in his chair. The wood creaked under his weight. “Come on, you know what I am, what I’ve done. You should be with some fancy lord, someone who can take care of you proper. Someone who isn’t...wrong.”

Could that truly be what he thought? All day they’d been in turmoil because he thought he wasn’t good enough for her? That was utter nonsense, so ridiculous it almost made her laugh.

“You may not have noticed, Mr. Manderly, but, with a little help, I’ve been taking care of myself just fine for the past year. And I think a good man who always ensures my larder is full and my roof doesn’t leak even though he thinks I don’t know he’s behind it is a fine man to marry.”

If she wasn’t mistaken, the tops of his ears turned red. She didn’t know why a few hours and a rushed wedding made her doubt his feelings toward her. 

This must be part of that beauty Miranda told her about. It certainly felt beautiful. Airy and light, sweet yet savory, comfortably warm and soft.

“Will you tell me something?” At his nod, she asked, “Why did you do all of that?”

“I ruined your life. I owe you a debt.”

“Is that the only reason?”

She regretted the question as soon as it flew out of her mouth. His answer had the power to break her heart. Perhaps it was better to never know the truth and live in a fantasy where Billy held himself back from her out of some misplaced sense of nobility, and not because he saw her as a red mark in his ledger and nothing more. A task to be completed. An annoyance.

His silence stretched. She heard their breathing, the flames flickering in the hearth, the wind whistling through the palms outside. She steeled herself for disappointment. That was a feeling with which she’d grown all too acquainted over the past few years.

Emotion flitted across his face, as confusing to her as they’d been before. He swallowed, looked her in the eye, and said, “No. No, it’s not.”

It was what she wanted to hear and it still stunned her. She mentally cursed her naivete in these matters. For a woman considered by society to be thoroughly debauched, her knowledge of the marriage bed included one gentle conversation with Miranda and a far more shocking one with Idelle.

What she did know was that Billy admitting he’d gone along with the wedding for reasons beyond his own guilt, or sense of interpersonal justice, was a far greater admission than she could have hoped for. Pressing for more than that, to know the precise reasons why he sat across from her as her husband, would be too great an ask.

It was a truth she could live with, especially seeing as how she had a lifetime to find out.

“Billy,” the day’s first full smile teased at her lips, “we’re married.”

He nodded once, propped his elbow on the table, and sank his head into his hand. “I’m sorry.”

If she wasn’t so gently bred, she’d have screamed and torn at her hair. However, she was gently bred and she wasn’t ready to damage the elegant coiffure Idelle had fashioned for her. 

She’d come a long way since the night she’d first sat across from Billy, marveling at his intelligence and beauty in turns. One piece of that journey included learning about the man beyond a few words and a single sparking look, held far too long for polite standards. She’d been so off balance then, still trying to reconcile her old world with the new, still bound up in the rules that governed that old world. After that look, she’d spent the rest of the journey home fancying herself in love with him. 

All childish whimsy borne of a lifetime of petty, meaningless rules asserting that any man and woman who looked at each other like that must be inviting sexual congress, and sexual congress is the provenance of the sacred marriage bed and debauched women. Nothing more, nothing less. Nassau taught her the world was far more complicated than all that and sometimes, outside of polite society, people can look at each other with certain interests in mind and it means nothing more than that. A look. A bit of interest quickly forgotten.

She’d learned a great many things and of Billy she’d learned that he was a difficult man to know. He kissed like the Devil, then cursed himself twice as hard before leaving and not returning for weeks on end. He stayed with Flint’s crew out of loyalty to men he called his brothers and preferred to stay focused on the business of sailing and piracy above all else, often to the point of not sleeping. He was a leader, an intellectual, single minded to a fault, a man who always saw the bigger picture and saw to the needs of others, often before they knew what they needed.

He kept the truth of his thoughts and feelings to himself, for the most part, even from her. Like a watchful parent, he was too busy to trouble his charges with his own feelings and, a man with his eye on the horizon, usually weighed the truth against what he felt they needed to know. 

So when he spoke the truth—and she had indeed learned to spot his lies—she took it to heart. He wanted her, she wanted him, and nothing could be more simple.

“Don’t you think that if I didn’t want to marry you, I wouldn’t have?” she asked after letting him stew in his self-made misery a little while longer than was strictly necessary. “Nothing could have compelled me to marry against my will, certainly not to a monster in the name of saving my property. Had Captain Flint not offered a solution I considered desirable, I simply would have gone with Mr. Pritchet when he arrived and hoped for the best. Had I known how detestable you would find this solution, well…”

It was her turn to lie, for she knew her instincts were right in this matter. It was not her that he rejected, but himself. It wasn’t even really a lie, just a misrepresentation of what she knew to be true. He wanted her, she wanted him, and he wasn’t the only one who could position strategic mistruths in such a fashion as to engineer the response one wanted.

The truth, she had learned since those weeks when her world was upended, was a funny thing. The truth was that Billy might never admit his feelings for her, at least not with words. He’d admitted much already with his actions. There was more to truth than speaking the words.

His head whipped up, brow furrowed, and, God help her, lips pulled in a pouty frown. With more strength than she imagined she had, she smothered the impulse to smooth away that frown and laugh at the picture he made: big, dangerous pirate turned absolutely flummoxed over an issue of emotions.

“I don’t detest anything about you,” he said, shaking his head at the very idea, “I...I…”

She reached out and covered his clenched fist with her hand, so much softer and smaller than his, yet still ruddy with color and calluses she’d earned in the past year. “It’s all right. If you insist on staying out here tonight, I’m sure I can find you some extra bedding. But…”

This is the part where she had to steel her spine. She called on the images of the bold, hardy women she’d met in Nassau, women who dared things. They dared to run businesses, stand up to men, pirate right alongside them. They dared to own their bodies as well as their minds.

Abigail could dare things, couldn’t she? She’d dared to uproot her life and come here, afterall. She’d dared to take up occupations, a thing unheard of in her old world. Her daring had started so small, simply raising her voice to be heard over men. Now, this very day, she’d dared to accept a marriage on uncertain ground.

She could dare a little more.

“Mrs. Featherstone laced my stays too tightly. Before you bed down, would you help me?”

She held her breath and knew a flush must be creeping up her chest. Billy’s lips parted. He cocked his head, in the way he always did when something puzzled or surprised him. 

“Yes?” His voice rose with the question, watching her like she might sprout fangs and rip his throat out because this was a trick and he might have just offered the wrong answer.

She stood and dipped deep into her well of courage. Instead of answering, she picked up the lamp and strode for the bedroom. In and out, she measured each breath. Idelle’s saucy advice came to mind, but she wasn’t sure she’d be able to muster the courage for any of _that,_ let alone the execution of the act itself. Miranda’s telling relied on the man to take charge and she wasn’t entirely clear on how to get Billy to do so without resorting to Idelle’s recommendations.

All she had were her instincts, which currently told her that not only was she not prepared to carry out Idelle’s advice, but neither was Billy to receive it. His footsteps followed hers at a much slower pace, though his strides ate up the ground faster. Was he slowing himself, hesitating, or simply keeping pace with her in his own way?

Once inside, she set the lamp on the small bedside table and let the light cast its warmth about the spartan space. Keeping her back turned to him, she went to work on the colorful floral mantua she’d selected for the day, pin by pin, button by button.

“There’s extra blankets in the trunk next to the armoire,” she said over her shoulder. Judging by the quick step and creak of hinges, he immediately made himself busy digging through her linens while her own fingers shook on her gown.

She considered laying the mantua across her mattress, then thought better of it. If things were to go as planned this evening, she needed as few impediments as possible. That meant a clear bed. Trembling now from head to foot, she slowly turned, clutching the fabric and stomacher to her chest. Billy froze, crouched in front of the trunk, gripping a quilt in fingers that grew tighter by the second. His knuckles went white.

Though she’d been made up as if their wedding was a large affair on a small island, and not the mercurial event suggested by Captain Flint to solve her problem, Billy still wore the clothes he’d been fetched in, the same things he usually wore; homespun trews, tall, weathered boots, simple shirt bleached by the sun with his sleeves rolled up around his biceps. He couldn’t find a jacket to fit him.

He swallowed hard and straightened, unconsciously mimicking her posture. She stepped past him to hang up the gown. When she closed the door, her palm stayed glued to the wood, eyes unseeing its whorls and veins beneath its lacquered surface.

_He likes to help people_ , she reminded herself. _Give him something with which he can help_.

“Um,” she took a deep breath, “will you…”

The quilt dropped to the floor with a thud and he was at her back in an instant. Perhaps this would be easier than she thought.

He found the lacing at her back and made short work of loosening the garment.

“You’re rather efficient with this,” she said without thinking.

At long last, he chuckled behind her. “I’ve spent most of my life dealing with rigging. This is just smaller. Better?”

It was indeed an improvement and she could easily remove her stays on her own now if she wanted to. It was only that she didn’t want to.

“Actually, my hair.” She patted at the mass of dark curls. “The girls used so many pins. Honestly, it’s a little painful.”

This she could do with her eyes closed. She only hoped Billy didn’t know that.

At her mention of pain, he made a sound in the back of his throat and immediately went after her hairpins, shockingly gentle for a man accustomed to hard labor and violence. There had always been something enjoyable about someone else touching her hair, but under Billy’s hand, that feeling reached new heights.

She found herself leaning into his touch and closing her eyes against the rising tide of pleasure at something so simple. All too soon, it was over. He pulled away, leaving her far from satisfied.

“There,” his voice was hoarse, “I’ll be in the front room if you need anything else.”

Letting him go seemed the only option, so he retreated from the room without a word of resistance from her. She exhaled hard and fought back the tears that threatened to fall. She was not equipped for this. Not after merely two vastly different conversations on the subject with two vastly different women.

Of course, she hadn’t been prepared for her abduction, either. She hadn’t been prepared for her father’s death, nor discovering the truth about his treachery. She hadn’t been prepared for the poor, friendless existence that followed. She hadn’t been prepared to journey back to the pirate republic and carve out a life of her own.

Yet she’d done all of it. That man out there was quite possibly more terrified of what lay ahead than she was. If they both cowered in fear, they’d never move forward and would spend the rest of their lives circling around each other, sometimes coming close but never close enough.

Inexperienced though she might be, Abigail could be strong for both of them in this moment. She made quick work of undressing and slipping into the nearly transparent sleeveless shift Idelle had gleefully bestowed upon her as “delicious wedding night attire.”

She shrugged into a robe to cover herself. The answer to tonight’s problem lay somewhere in between Miranda and Idelle. Since she was neither woman, it wouldn’t suit to present herself as such. She could only be Abigail and incorporate what little she did know to craft a response.

Her bare feet made almost no sound on the swept wooden floors, leaving her free to drown in the thunder of her pulse, the sound of a blanket being padded down to the boards, the rustle of Billy’s clothing as he moved. 

Though she was quiet, he stilled, crouched over his makeshift bed, broad shoulders pulling at the fabric of his shirt, when she made it to the front room. His bare feet caught her attention. She’d never seen him without his boots. They were large, as she knew they were, yet seeing each toe, the veins and ridges of bone, the arches, felt like an intimacy she’d shared with no one else. They were so different from her own soft, pale feet. Would he notice hers the way she noticed his?

“Everything all right?” His eyes trailed over her, from the tips of her toes to the top of her head.

She could ask him to fetch her a cup of water and put this off a little while longer. But no, if she started delaying now, she’d never stop.

“Do you want me?” She managed the words in a rushed whisper.

“What?” His entire face lifted in surprise. 

She paced a short line, just a few steps here, a few steps back, for want of physical action while she got this out.

“I know that the expectations of courtship with which I was raised don’t apply here, so please don’t think I am applying those standards. But I do know you look after me, well beyond whatever debt you imagine lays between us. I know you linger with me for conversation and company. I know you pretend my cooking has improved and I have heard your praises of me. I believe you find me attractive, because of the way you look at me and...because you’ve kissed me. What I want to know is if you want me, as your wife.”

All of it came out measured, even, as though she’d planned and rehearsed the speech, and not that she’d spilled it all out as it arose in her mind.

Billy’s mouth fell open. His jaw worked and he snapped it back closed. He stood slowly, inch by inch, no doubt buying himself time to formulate an answer. At some point, he’d removed his belt and untucked his shirt, so it hung loose and billowed about his frame. His boots rested in the corner, next to his baldric and sword. It made an odd sight in her house, though she rather liked the change.

“Any man would want to be your husband,” he said.

The time for dissembling had come and passed.

“That’s not what I asked. I asked if you want me.”

“If I tell you the truth of it, there’s no coming back. For either of us.”

“There hasn’t been any going back for me for a long time now,” Abigail said. “I can either stand still or move forward, and I find I don’t like standing still.”

He studied her. She could almost see the wheels turning in his mind as he fit each piece together and came to a decision. All she had was hope that he’d make the right one.

“Yes,” he rasped the word. “Fuck me, but I want you so much I hurt with it.”

Without giving herself a moment to hesitate, a moment to think about what she was about to do, she dropped her chin, then dropped her robe. Her head stayed down, breathing shallow, fingers flexing and rolling into tight fists. Never in her life had she been so exposed before a man. Even with the limited light, surely he could see through the filmy material of her chemise.

When he didn’t speak or move, shame sliced through her. This was wrong, all wrong, and she knew better. He didn’t visit the brothel, which meant he likely didn’t appreciate such forwardness from a woman. Humiliation burned deep. She dipped to retrieve her robe, ready to grab it and flee to her bedroom, where she could shut the door and spend a sleepless night crying through her shame and heartache. 

“Don’t.” His voice cut through the room. “Leave it.”

She froze with her knees bent and her hand reaching for the discarded garment. His lips had parted and his chest rose and fell rapidly. Still, he didn’t move.

She had power here. With that in mind, she straightened back up, prepared to keep the forward progression going for the both of them, until he finally broke free from the chains with which he’d bound himself.

Idelle probably would have told her to remove the chemise, but that wasn’t in her. Not yet, at any rate. Not while things were still so uncertain between them. Not when getting Billy to let this barrier down was akin to asking him to be shorter. Push too hard, and he’d only reinforce the wall. Don’t push enough, and nothing at all would change.

She took one step forward. Then another, followed by another, all while he never took his eyes off her, until they were only a hairsbreadth apart and she had to crane her neck to meet his gaze. She breathed him in, masculine, clean, and so warm it radiated into her barely concealed flesh.

Her hand reached out and hovered between them, unsure what she was supposed to do next, only knowing she needed this to progress. Billy fixed that.

He clutched her hand to his chest, just above his heart, and his other hand burrowed into her hair. He kissed her, and kissed her, and kissed her.

All her worries and insecurities vanished in a puff of smoke, in the insistent, driving force of his mouth and solid wall of strength in which he wrapped her. This is what it meant to want and be wanted. He kissed like a man starving and only she could satisfy his hunger. His tongue delved into her mouth, seeking ever more.

And she wanted to give him everything. She wanted everything from him in return. The dam had broken, the walls breached, and he was right, there was no going back from this. He’d never kissed her like this before, not with this unadulterated need, not with their bodies pressed so tightly together she felt every inch of him. 

Emboldened, she stroked her tongue against his and was rewarded by his low groan before he wrenched himself away, panting hard.

“You sure about this?”

“Yes,” she answered quickly, pushing up on her toes to pick up where they left off. Instead, he scooped her into his arms and had her on the bed in a few long strides. 

He followed her onto the bed, which suddenly seemed far too small for the task at hand. The feel of his weight settling over her pushed that worry aside. He peppered kisses at her hairline, her cheeks, her nose, her jaw, the space where her neck met her shoulder, a place she hadn’t known could feel so good.

Then he pushed up and stared at her, wrinkled brow and small frown in place. He opened his mouth to speak, but Abigail cut him off.

“Billy, stop. I don’t know how many different ways to tell you I want this, I want you.”

The man was going to drive her mad.

“I was going to ask where you got this.” He fingered the strap of her chemise. “Doesn’t seem like the sort of thing you already had.”

Yes, he was going to drive her mad. Her skin thrummed with desire and nerves about what was to come next, if he ever fucking got there.

Would he? A terrible thought occurred to her.

“Are you trying to stall this until I tell you to leave?”

He smirked at her. He honestly smirked and chuckled. Damn him for how his entire face lightened when he simply let go and allowed something other than seriousness shine through.

“I’ve been thinking about this for a long time. Never thought I’d get it, so no, I’m stalling because I want this to last as long as possible.”

_Oh._

He sat back on his knees, looking his fill at her prone body. Initially, she had to fight the urge to cover herself, but the longer he looked, eyes darkening with desire, the more she wanted him to look. When his hands reached out to span her waist, all rough palms against soft skin beneath the material, she came alive. Her nipples pebbled for him to see and she felt no shame.

His hands abandoned her only to reach back and remove his shirt. If Billy could look his fill of her, she could look her fill of him, too. There was a lot to see. She traced each ridge and valley of tanned muscle with her eyes, adding yet more tinder to the flames licking low in her belly. 

Down to a few beaded necklaces, a wrap around his wrists, and his trews, simmering with tightly leashed energy, he looked untamed, man at his most primal. When she ghosted her fingertips against the ripples of his abdominal muscles, desperate to feel him, to feel some measure of all that strength, he let out a full body tremble. His eyes closed and his breath came out in a low hiss.

He caught her wrists. “Keep that up and this will be over before it starts.”

She didn’t know what to make of that, or why it felt so thrilling when he slowly pinned her arms to the bed and leaned in close enough to brush his nose against hers. She tipped her chin, but he dodged her with a warm laugh.

Instead, he kissed his way down her neck, releasing one hand so he could push the strap of her chemise down her shoulder as he went.

Pleasure shot through her body until she writhed with it.

“Billy,” she whined. She wanted more and the wanting of it drove her to the point of irrationality. Her body felt empty in a way only he could fill and damn him, but he wasn’t doing it.

“Easy.” He shifted to repeat the actions on her other shoulder. “If we rush this, I could hurt you.”

She’d heard a variety of stories about this event, ranging from abject horror to mild discomfort and, more rarely, blinding pleasure. Since Billy wasn’t the type to disregard her in any situation, she wasn’t worried he’d hurt her. 

“I trust you,” she said. Her free hand brushed over his short hair, down his neck, and across the expanse of one shoulder. “Please.”

He shuddered with a groan and pulled back just far enough to tug the chemise the rest of the way off her arms, baring her body completely as he went. When he was done, he dropped the garment to the floor and stared down at her in wonder and lust. Her heart raced, chasing that inexorable something instead of running from it.

He muttered something that sounded awfully like, “Fuck me,” and ducked down to kiss her again. She met his tongue with her own, quickly learning how to match him beat for beat. Calloused hands caressed her ribs and waist, leaving delicious chills in their wake. She hadn’t thought before how it might feel to have such rough hands on her smooth skin and now she wanted nothing else. Her nipples brushed against the hard planes of his chest, introducing her to a new type of friction she felt all the way to the tips of her toes.

She was awash in sensation, drowning in it until nothing else mattered. All that remained was how her body came alive beneath his, his earthy scent, his powerful body, the spice still lingering on his tongue. 

The pad of his thumb scraped over her breast and she almost shot off the bed. He nipped at her bottom lip and ducked even lower. To her shock, he nuzzled at her breast and sucked the tip into his mouth. He scraped his teeth against it and took the other between his fingers, tugging lightly, until she was a quivering, gasping mass. Her hips wanted to rock up, but his thighs kept her pinned in place.

Miranda had talked about beauty and pleasure, but this was something far beyond what Abigail had imagined. He consumed her and all she wanted was to consume him back. Her hands worked over the flexing muscles of his back and dragged through his hair, finally free to touch and feel the man she’d wanted for so long.

He released her breast with a wet pop and a groan that vibrated from his chest into her. 

“So beautiful,” he whispered and lathed attention on her other breast. He skated from her ribs to her hip and gave her a gentle squeeze.

He shifted until his knees nudged her legs apart, truly baring her most intimate place. Still, the shame she’d expected to feel was far from her mind. She wanted to laugh at the silliness of things she and her peers fretted over regarding the marriage bed. The idea of a man lifting her chemise beneath the covers had once caused scandalized gasps, red faces, and stomach-churning tension.

At this moment, she wanted him to see all of her. She couldn’t imagine hiding anything from him. This was not the time for hiding.

She brought her hands to the sides of his face and gently pulled until he followed and together they sank into another bone-melting kiss. At last she was free to rock her hips against him, to feel the friction she didn’t think she could live another moment without. Between the coarse material of his trews and the insistent press of his arousal, her body sang.

His kiss turned frantic at that, so she kept doing it, delighting in the sure knowledge that he was as affected as she. He broke off the kiss on a growl.

“You’re killing me.” He reached for her thigh, gripping her while he ground against her, matching her rhythm. 

“Good, then you know how I feel.” She clutched at him, anywhere her little hands could reach.

He loosened his grip to smooth his palm along her inner thigh, stroking higher and higher until his fingers brushed against the nest of curls at her sex.

This shocked her into stillness. Not out of fear or revulsion, but the overpowering desire for him to touch her there, to touch her in a way she’d never been touched.

He looked into her eyes, that fathomless blue gaze, and said, “I want you to feel good. This will make it easier on you.”

Since she hadn’t the faintest idea what that meant and only wanted more, she let her legs fall open further and pressed her hips against his seeking hand, begging him without words.

He skimmed along the folds of her sex, quickly honing in on the little bud of pleasure at its apex. She could actually hear the slick wetness coating his fingers and the sheer eroticism of it only added to the orchestra that was, to her mind, uniquely theirs.

What she thought had been intense multiplied tenfold. Already her body chased the kind of pulsing release she’d seldom ever found. Then he slipped a finger inside her and pressed his palm against her apex. Her body stretched to accommodate the invasion. All the while, he watched her with every ounce of intensity he possessed, studying her reactions. She reached for him again and their lips met in something slower, deeper than the heated frenzies that preceded it. He added another long finger, feeding that exquisite fullness she hadn’t known she needed.

He curled his fingers. All sensation exploded like it never had before. Colors danced behind her eyelids and she cried out as the waves washed over her. Only once she collapsed in a boneless heap against the mattress did she realize Billy slipped away to remove the last of his clothing. He didn’t give her much time to soak his nude body the way he’d appreciated hers before slipping back into bed.

To her surprise, he stretched across her, all rangy limbs and coarse leg hair tickling her legs, then flipped them in one smooth motion so he lay on his back and she atop him. 

“What-” She pushed up. His heart thudded a rapid beat against her palm, betraying his otherwise controlled exterior.

He ran his hands up and down her back, her hips, along her thighs, leaving warm shivers in his wake.

“This way,” he licked his lips, “you’re in control.”

“But I don’t know what to do.” She knew the basics of this act. She knew how her body would accept him, no matter how impossible that seemed. She now knew her body craved the stretch and fullness he could provide. Yet somehow the execution of the act seemed utterly out of her reach, like she would do it all wrong if he didn’t take control.

“It’s all right.” He drew her in for a tender kiss, hand tangled in her hair. “I…”

Whatever he intended to say trailed off when he brushed himself—his cock, as Idelle said—against her slick folds. They both trembled and sucked in harsh breaths at that. Everything thus far had been so far removed from how she’d imagined her wedding night and she didn’t regret a single part of it, except maybe that it took so much needling to get Billy to this point. Even that she couldn’t fully regret, because all of the holding back he’d managed had fomented something passionate and powerful in him she wasn’t sure she would currently be experiencing if he’d been amorous and open the entire time she’d known him.

With a great swallow, he fitted himself to her opening and pushed ever so slightly inside her. Though he’d prepared her with his fingers, his cock was a different matter. He couldn’t possibly fit. Her body couldn’t possibly accept his. She froze, mouth open and working uselessly.

“Shh,” he soothed even as every muscle in his body went tight, straining. His grip on her hips tightened, just shy of the point of pain, desperately holding himself back. 

Measure by measure, her body did relax, but not quickly enough. As if sensing what she needed, the things one night wasn’t enough to teach her to name and voice, he slipped a hand between them and rubbed at that little bud of pleasure. Almost immediately, she sank down further, awash in a blend of pleasure and pain that, she realized, she enjoyed. Immensely. Each time his thumb circled that nub, the burning gave way little by little to a dizzying need for more.

She braced her hands on his chest and found his skin damp with sweat, heart thundering in time with hers, vibrating with waves of trembles. Pushing up, not fully sitting but in more control, she could chase it.

_Need, need, need._

_Want, want, want._

Fingers pressed into her hips hard enough to leave bruises and she didn’t care, she only wanted more. She sank a little further, her own legs beginning to shake with the effort of holding this position, unsure whether to push on or simply enjoy the feel of her body adjusting to his. The half moons of her nails dug into his skin and if she hurt him, he didn’t show it.

“God, Fuck, Abigail.” He tossed his head back and even the muscles of his neck flexed and bulged. 

She could relate to the feeling, though she lacked the ability to do more than work small, helpless noises out of her throat. All at once, her body completely surrendered to him. There was a brief, searing pain, but he kept up his ministrations and soon all that remained was that fullness from before, but amplified, pressing and rubbing places she hadn’t known existed.

His breath came in hard pants through his nose. The poor man was working so hard to remain still, to let her set the pace. If he felt even a fraction of what she felt, it must be pure torture.

“What...what do I do?” Her words came out in a breathy rush. This couldn’t be the end of it, not the way Miranda had described it. There had to be more. She gave her hips an experimental shift forward and back, mimicking the way they’d ground against each other earlier. The effect was lightning in a bottle, ricocheting through her nerve endings.

He sat up quickly, but the arm banded around her back kept her tight to his chest. As their lips met in deep, slow, languid kisses, he took her hips again and pulled and pushed her into a rocking motion. 

“Like that,” his lips moved against hers, “just like that.”

This, she could do. She set her own rhythm and it wasn’t long until the threads of her release wound tighter and tighter. Faster, she discovered, faster made that thread spool up. A release unlike anything she’d ever experienced was coming, even more than when he’d used his fingers. This was the more she’d been seeking. He touched every part of her, inside and out. One hand kneaded at her rear while the other worked over her breasts, tweaking her nipples in turn. He played her body like a conductor over a symphony. One day she’d learn to reciprocate, but right now it was too much. She could only let him work.

Between kisses, he rambled a litany. Beautiful. Perfect. So good. He promised her anything she’d ever want, a promise he couldn’t possibly keep, yet she believed him, she believed he would at least try.

Higher and higher she flew in his arms, until she was falling. More colors danced across her vision. She thought she heard herself crying out. Her body spasmed and clenched, pulsed around him, then he followed, pumping into her furiously before slamming her down, as close as two people could possibly be. His lips had locked around her neck, and now his teeth, oh, God, his teeth, that bite, sent aftershocks rippling through her body. 

Sense took its time returning. He eased them both back down to the mattress and hissed a breath when he left her body. With her cheek pressed against his chest, she listened to his heart struggling to slow. Her fingertips played in the sweat and soft, light hair she found there. He kissed the top of her forehead.

“Did I hurt you?” His voice was hoarse, scratching at his throat. 

Everything about him was attractive, from the scraped raw tenor of his voice at this moment to the hair on his chest and the smell of his sweat. She was doomed and if this was damnation, she’d walk into Hell with a smile on her face.

“No.” She turned her head to rest her chin where her cheek had been. “It was perfect.”

Those strong arms wrapped her tighter. “Feel like a fucking idiot for waiting this long.”

She giggled. “Yes, I believe you are.”

His brow tightened. “You’re not supposed to agree with me.”

That only made her laugh harder. It didn’t take long for his face to break into a devious grin and, damn him, his clever fingers tickled at her sides.

She shrieked and tried to stop him, but it was no use. They rolled in a pile of limbs and laughter. For the first time in a long time, all the pieces of Abigail’s life fit perfectly together, and all thanks to some scheming cousin.

  
  


* * *

  
  


For the next few days, they left the bed to relieve themselves, bathe, and eat. Nothing more. Billy thanked Christ Flint saw fit to leave him alone and he dreaded the day when someone knocked on their door to call him back to the ship.

It was the first time he could remember dreading returning to his crew. In fact, the only thoughts he spared them vacillated between gratefulness that they stayed away and annoyance at the knowledge he would eventually have to return. Everything he wanted was right there in the house with him.

His wife. _Wife._ He still couldn’t quite wrap his head around the notion that he not only had a wife, but he had Abigail. 

He’d known for a long time now that if he ever married, it would be to a woman like her. Smart. Sweet. Deceptively strong, strong enough to survive being a pirate’s wife. Beautiful. However, knowing and _knowing_ were two different things, made even more different by the physical connection between them.

His life could now be cleanly divided between before Abigail and after. Before Abigail, fucking had been a matter of perfunctory need, a function to perform from time to time when the frustration became too great. What he’d spent three days sharing with Abigail was something altogether different, entirely removed from his entire adult experience.

The past year had allowed them to know each other personally, now they knew each other physically. They had no secrets from each other. He knew every inch of her body, what made her shiver, what made her cry out, what made her giggle. God help him, she rapidly caught on to him. Let no one accuse his wife of being anything less than clever and a touch devious. 

She was sound asleep in bed, so he kept his movements quiet as he prepared a cup of coffee. He had to smile to himself at the quiet domesticity of the scene. His wife sleeping away after another long, sultry night. Washing his hands after seeing to the goat and chickens so she wouldn’t worry. Puttering around the kitchen in nothing but his trews, even that weather-worn layer of clothing feeling like too much after so many hours spent bare. Having learned what her skin felt like against his, the softest fabric in the world would feel unpleasant now.

A gentle breeze blew through an open window and he took a deep inhale of the warm, salty air. This. This was a future he could look forward to, more quiet mornings and long nights. A woman at home he could drop his guard around, and, to his shock, she actually liked him. A person who, when she spoke, he wanted to hear more. The next time he returned from the sea, he’d finally have something to eagerly anticipate in this quiet little plot of land.

Because it was so quiet, he heard the horse coming. His body tensed, even after he recognized Jacob trotting along the sandy path. Whatever this was, it was an interruption, possibly an end to his time with Abigail. Though temporary, though he’d be back as soon as he could, he didn’t feel ready for this gauzy cocoon they’d created to burst.

With a sigh and a regretful glance over his shoulder to the bedroom, he strode outside to meet Jacob before he did something obscene, like knocking on the door.

“Pritchet’s here.” Jacob dismounted as he spoke. “Don’t know how we missed him, he got here yesterday.”

Yesterday? “What the fuck,” he spat the curse. “Where is he now?”

Jacob grimaced. “Not far behind me with three other men and a cart.”

Without another word, he returned to the house to retrieve his sword. Abigail padded out of the bedroom, tying a robe over a thick, floor-length chemise.

“He’s here?” Nerves made her voice tremble, but she kept her chin up and her shoulders back.

With his sword in one hand and her face in the other, he gave her a quick, thorough kiss. “I’ll take care of it. Stay here.”

He didn’t wait to ensure she obeyed, which, in retrospect, would have been smart. By the time he was back outside, the cart with four men he didn’t recognize rumbled down the path, pulled by a haggard mule in no particular hurry.

“They’d already left by the time I heard,” Jacob said by way of explanation. “I passed them on the road.”

Jesus, at least Billy’d had some warning. His grip tightened on the pommel of his sword. More warning wouldn’t have changed much about this situation, except he’d be fully dressed and would have more of his crew there. 

Their clothing was too heavy and dark to mark any as local. Sweat streamed down their faces beneath their hats. The mule gave a cantankerous shake of the head when the driver pulled to a halt.

The man next to the driver, pale, small, with a dimple in his chin to match Abigail’s, spoke first. “I was told this is the home of Miss Ashe.”

“Manderly,” Billy said.

“Pardon?” The man made to dismount the cart, then thought better of it.

“Her name is Missus Manderly now.”

Pritchet, and it surely had to be the cousin in question, frowned, nose wrinkled in distaste. “She can’t be married.”

Jacob smothered a snort and Billy had to agree. How very English of this man to simply reject what a person could or couldn’t do even as the truth stood across from him armed and hoping for an excuse to escalate the situation.

“Beg to differ,” Billy said.

The door behind him opened and he silently cursed. Every pair of eyes except his lit on his wife and her undress. He knew from just moments earlier her hair was mussed and at least one red mark graced her exposed neck from his attentions. Good thing she had a robe on.

Pritchet blanched and the other men had the good sense to quickly look away. On second thought, this might help hurry the man away.

Blanched skin turned to a reddened fluster as Pritchet puffed himself up. “She can’t marry without my permission.”

“Bit late for that.” Billy tugged Abigail under his arm. She stumbled once and recovered quickly, catching on to his game.

“Quite,” Abigail said. “I’m sorry you came all this way for nothing, Mr. Pritchet. Perhaps you should have waited for my reply before traveling.”

A smile tipped his mouth despite Billy’s desire to remain hard and threatening before this angry little man.

Pritchet hopped out of the cart and stomped up to them. “Absolutely not. You should have written to me before you did such a thing. You know better than this and to...to…”

He trailed off, sputtering, before gathering himself again.

“You’ve taken a mess and managed to compound the situation, now get in the cart and do what you’re told for once in your life.”

She stiffened beneath Billy’s arm and fuck, he wanted to punch this man. Or run him through and just be done with it. Instead, he released Abigail and took a step forward.

He dropped his voice low and enjoyed a sick pleasure as Pritchet cowered. “She is my wife. It was witnessed and as you can see, consummated. Now fuck off before I remove you and I promise you, you won’t like the way I do it.”

The blood drained from Pritchet’s face. He made one last attempted with a whispered, rushed, “I’ll return-”

“No the fuck you won’t. I don’t know what you want with her and I don’t give a fuck. Do you have any idea who I am? The crew I sail with? I so much as catch a whiff of you coming back, and I’ll hunt you down.”

Abigail chose that moment to return to his side and placed a steadying hand on his bare arm. 

“Even if I were still unwed,” she shook her head, “I still wouldn’t leave with you. I’m not the timid child you met once and as you can see, I have made my own way and connections in the world. I no longer need someone to tell me what to do.”

Pritchet bristled, but a quick look over Abigail’s shoulder to Billy stilled whatever he intended to say. Billy decided in that moment he didn’t want to punch Pritchet in the face. He wanted Abigail to punch him. 

Here was the type of man who didn’t give the first fuck what a woman thought or wanted, let alone what she needed. It was only Billy and Jacob’s presence that deterred him and if there was ever a man who deserved a woman’s fist planted in his nose, it was Pritchet. If there was ever a woman who deserved the sweet release of planting her fist in a man’s nose, it was Abigail.

“Whatever you hoped to accomplish, I’m sorry you wasted your time.” Imperious as a queen, Abigail turned on her heel and walked back toward the house, pausing a beat to say, “Billy, please don’t kill him.”

He made no promises and raised an eyebrow to communicate as much to the smaller man.

Pritchett retreated with a harsh, “Let’s go,” to his men, whoever they were. 

“I’ll see them back to their ship,” Jacob said and clapped Billy on the shoulder. “By the way, congratulations. ‘Bout fucking time.”

Billy rolled his eyes to the heavens. “Yeah, thank you.”

Jacob left, laughing all the way out of the yard after the cart and it’s coterie of would-be villains. They likely wouldn’t be back, but if they tried again, Billy would feel free to handle the situation as he saw fit.

He took a glance around the yard, mentally cataloguing the running list of things to do. The garden needed weeding. The lean-to and animal pen needed mucking. At some point he needed to check the roof again before storm season arrived. The well could use a new pulley.

“Billy.” Abigail stood in the open doorway with a soft smile, still shining with all her light no matter how close he got. She held out her hand. “Come on.”

For the first time since his impressment, he went home.

  
  



End file.
